


I am up here holding on to all those chandeliers of hope

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr ficlets and prompts written prior to the Christmas Special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. careful is as careful does

_Thump._ He grins as he walks - well scurries really - behind his wife, his hand clutching the handle of the canvas bag he’d swiftly taken from her. He was being  _chivalrous_ , really. He swings his arms and the bag hits another wall as they round the corner, the dull thud echoing around them.

“I do need him  _alive_ , you know sweetie,” River glares back at him, her hand tightening in his as they hear the clanging echo of the sodding bastard’s giant robot body behind them.

He grins innocently and lifts his arm, swinging the bag in an arc around him, uncaring as it hits a chair next to them. “He’s alive, can’t you hear?” He shakes the bag a bit harder and muffled yells come out of it as she rolls her eyes.

“You’re being careless,” she scolds as she tries a door to their left with the hand that isn’t holding his. It’s locked though and she growls under her breath. 

“Probably because I couldn’t care less,” he mutters as she drags him across the hall, down another corridor and tries another knob. Success this time - it opens easily and she yanks him inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them, pushing him aside to reach. Of course he’s a bit off balance - no free hands you see - and he falls back into the door with a dull thud. He grins and lifts his arm, letting the bag thud against it again as she shushes him and leans against him, her ear to the door. This close, he can feel her hearts racing against his chest and he takes a moment to savour the harmony of them against his own.

“You’re not helping!” She hisses, and he startles, realising he’d been swinging the bag back and forth against the door frame. “He’ll have a bloody concussion!”

“Good,” he shoots back snidely. “Perhaps then he’ll  _forget that he’s married_.”

“Oh like  _you’re_  one to talk!” She glares at him as he continues on, unrepentant. “Would you  _stop_  that please?”

“Anything for you , dear,” he grins as he drops the bag with a heavy thud and she huffs in annoyance. “What now? We can’t hide in a storage room all night. His body will be here any minute.”

“And we  _won’t_  be _._ There’s a window,” she nods over her shoulder and sure enough, there is indeed a window, plate glass and sealed shut. “I just have to open it…” she is pulling out her trowel - honestly - a sonic trowel. Brian Pond would be delighted if he knew.

The Doctor snatches the bag up with glee though and pushes past her. “How fortuitous. He can go first.” And without pause he swings the bag, releasing it and sending it sailing through the window, breaking the glass and soaring out in to the inky blackness below. The Doctor pauses, listening and they hear a soft thud. “Only ten meters and look, a snowbank. Shall we, my dear?” She huffs and looks like she wants to scold him but the sound of heavy footsteps down the corridor makes her take his hand instead. He unlatches the window - oops wasn’t that convenient? - and they clamber on to the sill together with childish grins of glee. “Ready?”

“Always,” she laughs and they leap, falling straight down until they land with a hard thud, knocking the breath out of them. He is on his back, snow creeping down his shirt and River is somewhat on top of him and he can’t help laughing in delight. What an adventure! Of course it is - it’s River - she always seems to incite the most amazing events whenever she is around. Mostly because she causes them, but hell if that doesn’t thrill him too. “This is a serious mission, there is nothing to laugh about here.” River insists as she gets up and next to him the bag is protesting loudly.

“We’re being threatened by a bag!” His tone is far too gleeful as they scramble to their feet and once again he is snatching the handle of the bag as she grabs his hand again.

“He’d be less threatening if you hadn’t thrown him down those stairs!” She stares at him as he beams and shrugs, attempting to look innocent. He thinks the eyebrows ruin it - bloody things always ruin it, don’t they?

“I needed two hands to slide down the rail!” She simply squeezes his hand harder as the scramble through the heavy snow. “You’re the one who handed me the bag, River.”

“Because I needed two hands to shoot! It’s not like you could build a cabinet around a giant bloody robot - strategically it’s more useful for me to be hands free.” She shouts over her shoulder, her curls bouncing as they slip and slide like children through the fresh snow - but she can’t quite keep the mirth off her face, nor can she keep the giggle out of her tone. He grins in response, shaking the bag a little bit harder as he runs next to her. “Besides, you’re my husband - that’s your job, isn’t it?”

He preens a bit at that, and pulls her to a halt, dropping the bag with another heavy thud as he drags her closer and kisses her - both of them breathless from the chase. She hums in approval, pausing to wind her arms around him and snogging the daylights out of him as she grins against his mouth. When she pulls back she is shaking her head and grinning up at him. “Such a jealous idiot.”

“Well I’ll introduce a second wife to you and we’ll see how you do then,” he points out as she rolls her eyes.

“It’s a  _job_  sweetie _,”_ she presses one more kiss to his mouth and he smiles soppily down at her, unable to stop himself. “It’s not a  _real_  marriage.”

“I don’t think that would matter to you if the reverse were true. And you know it,” he pulls back, stroking along her nose and she positively beams up at him at the gesture, her nose crinkling adorably. Bloody hell but she turns him into an old fool - every time.

“But you’d love it,” she points out and he nods in agreement.

“Aye, and so do you dear.” She huffs at that and he reaches a foot out, kicking at the bag a bit as she tries to glare, but her eyes are far too lit up and her cheeks far too flush for any disapproval to be remotely convincing. “Now, shall we run? Or do you fancy matching cells?”

“We’ve already done every prison fantasy I can think of my love,” she breathes the words out with a grin and he sways into her, greedy for the innuendo as it spills from her lips. Because they really  _really_  had. “So I suppose running it is,” she grins and he lets her grab his hand once more. He snatches up the bag and they carry on, running around through the wrought iron gates of the grounds. He swings his arm out a bit and giggles as she rolls her eyes.

 _Thwack_.


	2. the old Song and dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River breaking into the Tardis with her key while the Doctor pretends to not know what is going on or argues that whatever that blue thing is, they can't escape in it.

She stands outside his TARDIS, her hands on the doors, caressing them in a way that honest to bloody god makes him jealous of his _ship_ for Christ’s sake. He’s out of breath, and annoyed by his wife who doesn’t seem to recognize him. Or want to even _remotely_ flirt with him – he’s still not sure which one is more irritating to be honest. And more than that he’s discovered that she’s absolutely _insane_.

He’d been put out about the recognizing him thing, but he was on to a new set of regenerations. She clearly hadn’t met this him before now. Once he’d realized that, he’d been a bit delighted. _He knew something she didn’t_. Well over a thousand years of marriage and he’d honestly never been able to say that before. Sure there’d been moments when she was young and he’d known more to come – but those had never been savoured on account of the fact that the woman was a fucking _handful_ young. Reckless and impertinent – even when he knew everything and she knew nothing, she’d still somehow get the upper hand on him. It was annoying as hell.

He’d figured he’d just observe her – on one of her own adventures, without him. It was covert – like he was invisible, right? Except he’d been mildly put out to say the least by how much she flirted with others, and how often she relied on that stupid bloody hallucinogenic lipstick to escape situations. Not on him though – oh _no_. She’d not even batted a bloody eye in his direction since Nardole had dragged him out of the very box they were now standing in front of.

“Perfect timing as always, my darling,” River all but purrs the words out and he huffs behind her.

But he can’t tell her the truth _now_. They’re being chased by a giant fucking robot and he has the decapitated head of her “husband” (a whole other factor to his rising levels of irritation, he’s sure) in a god damn duffel bag and they’ve somehow lost her henchman. To be fair – the boy wasn’t too bright, even if he did seem dedicated to the cause that was River. “Aren’t we fucking all?” he mutters under his breath and she turns to frown at him. He straightens and clears his throat – game face on then. “How the bloody hell are you planning to hide in a wooden _phone_ booth?” He tetches at her, secretly delighting in her eye roll and long-suffering sigh.

“It’s not a phone booth, it’s a ship, Santiago,” she snipes back and he rolls _his_ eyes then. He gets it – he’s _old_. The nickname isn’t cute – but she’s been calling him that ever since declaring that Basil Pink was a ridiculous name. Which it _was_ , but she’d caught him off guard and he couldn’t go with any of his old standbys, now could he? She’d be on to him in a micro second. Irritatingly _brilliant_ woman.

“Awfully tiny, but I’m all for cozier accommodations if you are.” He’d not thought it possible, but in his desperation to get her to just _look_ at him he’d been reduced to flirting. _Flirting_. This body didn’t do innuendo – it did what the fuck it would have merely implied back when he was Bowtie. There was no talking _around_ the concept, he’d discovered, much to his own surprise. There was simply a surprisingly strong desire to simply shut up about it and _do_ the thing. He thinks she’ll really like that this go round – once he gets around to telling her of course. Which isn’t now.

She completely ignores the innuendo – when has River fucking Song ever _ignored_ innuendo, seriously? – and turns to him with a smile. “It’ll be fine, don’t you worry.”

“Assuming it _is_ actually a ship and not some rubbish wooden cuboid, wouldn’t whoever owns it lock it? I seriously doubt you brought _two_ ships to this bloody planet.” Her face is actually so offended it’s priceless. He wishes he could somehow take an image of that face and keep it forever, but she huffs and the smug smirk slides back into place. Behind her the TARDIS whirs in annoyance and he winces, mentally apologizing to his ship even as River reaches behind her to stroke the wood gently.

“We’re not stealing it, we’re _borrowing_ it. We have to go rescue Nardole,” she grinds the words through her teeth and he grins stupidly.

“We lost him _ages_ ago, how’d you plan on getting him back then? And borrowing or not, I doubt whoever owns it knew you’d be coming and left it unlocked,” he spits the words out and she grins, reaching in to her coat and pulling out a key.

“We have an understanding, don’t you worry, come on then – before Hydrofax’s robot catches up with us if you please – all this nattering. How _does_ he put up with it? You, me, in the box, let’s go!” He balks at her tone even as she opens the doors with the key he knows is completely unnecessary. As if River ever needed a _key_ to get in to his TARDIS. She walks through the door and he shouts after her as he moves to follow.

“He then? What’s that _another_ husband? You do seem the type to collect them-” he walks through the doors and halts – bugger, he has to act like this is a surprise. Fortunately, ahead of him River has slid to a halt, her shoulders tense. Good then – hit a nerve. About bloody time she remembers him – her _actual_ husband. “Wait a minute – it’s – it’s bigger on the inside?” He stumbles through the words, delivering them in just the way he’s heard it said, every time. “How is that possible?”

“Magic,” River answers tersely, running up to the console and avoiding his gaze as she pulls the monitor toward her and types quickly. “Good then, not on board. I’ll just bring it _right_ back, honey.” He sends out a mental thanks to the TARDIS – obviously she’s sending River false readings since he’s standing right here.

“Do you do this often? _Borrow_ your friend’s ship?” He drops the bag with a careless thunk and ignores the muffled protests from inside of it.

“I bring it right back – he barely notices!” He gapes at her – _seriously_? She _steals_ his bloody TARDIS all the time? This explained so much – he thought he’d been going mad in his grief. Catching her scent in the hall, finding something of hers where he swore he’d not put it. The bloody woman had been off joyriding with his TARDIS when he left it! Were the HADS even acting up or was it his fucking wife, taking off and abandoning him constantly? Oh she would, too – the _two_ of them would, without a by your leave.

“What if he comes back? I think he’d notice his spaceship not being there?” She is pulling levers and flicking switches and oh shit – now is _not_ the time to realize that watching her fly is ship is actually quite a turn on.

“Didn’t I mention?” She grins at him smugly as she sends the TARDIS into the vortex silently, the rotor rising and falling with nary a whisper. She says it’s the brakes but he knows that it’s not – she’d not liked the noise as a baby, so the TARDIS bloody well turned it off for her. Preferential treatment is what it was. “It’s travels in _time_ as well.” She is leaning over the console and smiling up at him so smugly, all traces of shadows in her eyes banished as she stroked the console and the TARDIS hummed in response.

“It’s a time machine as well? Bloody hell!” He is playing it too camp, he knows, but it’s such _fun_ he can’t seem to stop. “Is that how we’re rescuing your resoundingly dim manservant? Going back in time? Is it quite safe?” He walks up to the console, reaching for the stabilizers and she turns sharply, slapping his hands.

“Don’t touch that! And yes, we are. And he’s not dim he’s just… _loyal_.” She stresses and he laughs at that as she frowns in irritation. It might just be him, but he thinks her hair actually gets _curlier_ when she’s irritated. The flush on her skin and spark in her eyes – he can’t say as he minds.

“Is it safe? I thought you couldn’t cross your own time stream?”

“Of course you can – as I’ve had daily proof,” she mutters. “Paradoxes ought to be avoided, but sometimes, if one is very _stupid_ and reckless, you can get around it.”

“Reckless, hm? Just my thing, I think you’ll find.” He grins and she rolls her eyes, moving next to him to lock eyes on the screen as she navigates.

“Great, I clearly attract a bloody _type_ ,” she mumbles under her breath and he nudges her.

“And here I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” She frowns as she looks at him and he grumbles under his own breath about how fucking obtuse she was. “I am _not_ obtuse – I’m _brilliant_. Clearly whatever I’ve not noticed is because _you’re_ too dim to be explicit,” she points out and he freezes. Maybe _not_ under his breath then, shit. He doesn’t respond and it is only a beat of silence before she asks. “Noticed what?”

“Oh no, clearly I’m too _dim_ to convey it properly. Perhaps if you ever have two spare seconds to rub together and focus on me, you’ll figure it out yourself.” He gripes at her and she opens her mouth – probably to lecture him on the fact that they are running from robots and kidnapping _royalty_ but he cuts her off. “We’ve landed.”

“We have not,” she insists and he pulls the screen toward them, pointing at it.

“Have too, you just landed her. Are we gonna leave Loyal Lumpy out there to his fate then? Take off and see the stars on our own?” She breathes out sharply, pressing her lips together as she glares at him, shoving past him to the doors and reaching for her trowel.

“I really hate you,” she mutters over her shoulder before she steps outside and he grins, leaning against the console.

“No you don’t.”

 


	3. a good Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River and Twelve, dancing in the Christmas Special

**_a good Melody_ **

He likes music a startling amount this go round - playing especially but any sort of good melody can make his hearts lift with a quiet contentment no matter the situation. Such as right now - the orchestra is playing an uplifting, swelling sort of piece he doesn't recognise and his fingers drum against the table, keeping time as River lifts a drink menu and covertly observes the room.

An entire star liner full of villains - she has plenty to keep an eye on. Especially now that she knows who he is - any number of the occupants of the room would have five or six good reasons to kill him on any given day, let alone Christmas. They're waiting for their contact to meet them - dressed to the nines, why not make a date of it? Opportunity knocks and all that. He starts humming under his breath and River sighs next to him.

“Sweetie,” she mutters at him in what he supposes is exasperation but he can tell by the way she looks at him – eyes all big and soft, the corner of her mouth twitching reluctantly – she can’t stay mad. Any more than he could today – she’s _here_ and it is an unexpected miracle. A gift. A present the universe gave to him and he feels like a greedy toddler, unwilling to put his new gift down for anything.

“What? It’s a bloody good song, River! I should get the sheet music, maybe I can learn it-”

“Knowing you, you probably _wrote_ it and gave it to them so you’d hear it the first time, you meddlesome old fool.” She can’t even sound remotely strict about it really, and he grins at her. It’s probably true anyway – that last riff sounds familiar, like he’s heard it somewhere before.

“In that case, we _have_ to go get it.”

“You’re just going to what? Ask the conductor to _borrow_ his sheet music then?” She arches a brow at him, tilting her head and causing the curls piled on top of her head to bounce gently.

“Course not, that’s ridiculous. They’d never give it to me. Lucky for me I happen to have a _very_ talented wife,” he cajoles her, lifting his hand from the table and holding it out, palm up. “Care to dance, dear?”

“Can you _actually_ dance this go round?” She laughs in delight and takes his hand regardless of his response and his hearts thrill at her willingness to learn by trial and error.

“I’ve no fucking idea, actually. I think I have done – but not like this.” He stands and pulls her to her feet smoothly – one up on old Bowtie, he thinks with a grin. Nary a stumble as he leads her to the dance floor and pulls her flush against him, his arm winding around her waist as he tucks their intertwined hands in to his chest. They sway gently – nothing spectacular in their footwork but it feels like bliss. His wife in his arms, her head tucked in to his shoulder and her curls tickling his chin as they manoeuvre across the tiled floor with ease. They are quiet for a moment – but for his humming as they move in sync across the floor, closer and closer to the musicians.

“Not bad, my love,” she smiles as she lifts her head, chin to his shoulder so she can peek up at him and he grins down at her proudly. “Promise me one thing,” she adds impulsively and he nods before she’s even said what it is. He’d promise her fucking anything really – the universe and everything in it if she’d only ask. “Play it for me later? Alone?”

“If you’d like, dear,” he agrees with ease and she nods, paying little attention to the crowd around them as they spin toward the conductor. She steps out of sync then, “bumping” in to him and apologising profusely while avoiding getting entangled in his six arms. The Doctor keeps an eye on every fucking one of those hands, lest they wander places they shouldn’t, but soon enough she is back in his arms with a grin as the music falters and a new song starts. “Too easy, then, hmm?” He leans down to speak in to her ear as he pulls her closer and she shivers, tilting her head away from his lips until his mouth hovers just over her exposed throat.

He doesn’t move, just stares down at her, his breathing growing heavier as they sway in to the middle of the floor, people scattering around them. Good – fuck off, the lot of them. He’d like nothing more than to have her alone, right this very minute. “Well, a girl _does_ like a bit of a challenge, sweetie,” she demurs, her eyes darting around the room as she realizes that everyone is giving them _quite_ a wide berth.

“Excellent. Because in case you haven’t noticed, someone is about to attempt to murder me. _Again_. More up to your level then, wife?” Her eyes widen and she lifts her head, looking around as their bodies slide to a stop. He knows the instant she feels the hum of the frequency bombs beneath their feet and he grins in response as he steps away from her, her hand still in his, still over his hearts.

“Honestly,” she is speaking with far too wide a grin to even pretend she isn’t thrilled with his latest assassination attempt. “I can’t take you _anywhere_.”

“Yes well clearly they haven’t heard – the only one I let get away with this sort of thing is you.” They are both grinning brightly at that as she blows him a kiss. The floor rumbles beneath their feet and he grips her hand tighter as the tiles slide away from beneath their feet. Just as the floor opens beneath them, a gaping hole, he swears he hears her mutter _‘amateurs’_ , but then all he can hear is her laughter as the bottom drops out from under them. A little theft, a little death threat – he clutches her hand in his and grins alongside her.

Like he said – date night.


	4. to make an end is to make a beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt suggestion: The 'revelation scene' in the Christmas special ends with Twelve giving River a new diary to fill with new adventures. He has a whole new set of regenerations, there's much more time to run.

**_to make an end is to make a beginning_ **

_He sounds awful_ – the rub of it all is, that he meant it. He _was_ awful. A bloody useless husband who’d filled far too much of their time dawdling, trying to decide if he trusted her or not, trying to decide if he’d loved her or not – trying, trying, trying and never doing much of fucking anything, really.

Hindsight is twenty/twenty and all that but oh, he just wanted to stride into his own past, grab Bowtie by the tweed and _shake_ him until he suffered brain damage and regenerated early. Well, except he wouldn’t have then – but that’s beside the point.

Her face haunts him all night – her hands stroking the cover of that _so_ full diary, the soft smile curling the edges of her mouth, like paper burning – slow and deliberate and _sad_. That smile is ashes around her mouth and he wants to take the whole diary and chuck it in a super nova. He’d not known – she was wrong about that. He’d not known when he’d given her the diary how big it would be – how could he? He had no fucking control over how much she wrote in it – brief notes, cryptic dates or stories that read like Tolkien novels – every detail, painstakingly recorded. He hadn’t _known_ – it was total rubbish to think he had.

But she feels like it’s an end, and he wants to take her hands, shout at her that how could she be so _stupid_ and didn’t she know it was never a gift from him anyway? It had been a gift from the TARDIS – her old Mum, and of course it’s bloody bigger on the inside. It would never run out of pages, would it?

 _Had_ it?

He can’t remember – it was centuries ago for him now. And he’d never gone back for it – in the Library. Not even when everything ended and he’d taken her to what he’d thought would be their last night and said goodbye to her. Christ – how many times did he have to say goodbye to this woman, cutting himself open again and again while his hearts bleed out yet he still goes on?

He couldn’t read their story from her perspective – he was too much of a fucking coward to ever do that. It would hurt to see all that love written down on paper, weathered with tears and centuries of handling, aged with tenderness and care. Hurt to read her words as she met _stupid_ , useless fucking ignorant versions of himself who cut her to the quick with careless words. He’d been so _thick_. So wrapped up in his own bloody feelings he’d steamrolled over hers.

He doesn’t want her to have nothing to fill those blank pages but his own young stubborn stupidity as she marches toward their end. It hardly seems fair when he has been granted this gift – this time with her that is so unexpected and so treasured.

So when he finds it in a shop – a bloody little gift shop on the starliner as he’s waiting for River to change, _again_. Infuriating woman and her need to make him have a fucking heart attack with her cleavage – _not_ a difficult task, really. The book is not blue – it is black. Black leather so buttery soft – with a golden clasp and when he opens it the covers are lined in red satin. It is perfect – even wide ruled, something River had bemoaned the loss of while at university – forcing him several times to pop her back to 21 st century London so she could stock up on notebooks while muttering about the digital age and all it’s inadequacies.

He buys it – not really knowing why. He likes the smell of the fresh leather – the crisp pages. He likes how _thick_ it is – at least a thousand pages, new and pressed seamlessly together. He likes the idea of a diary that doesn’t make her sad to look at, a diary that feels full of possibility again – knowing that none of it will hurt. He has begun again – a whole new set of lives, and he wants a fresh start with _her_ as well. He can do it right this time, value every laugh, every smile, every frown, even every slap – every _second_ he can wring out of their time together, he will. His rings bite into his hand as he grips the blank book tightly and he grins, tucking it in to his coat pocket and patting it gently. He’ll give it to her once everything is taken care of. Once Hydrofax is hopefully stewing in a wee cell somewhere, once he and his wife are once again absconding with the spoils. As they always do.

He’ll know when the time is right.

~*~*~

It isn’t until days later that he remembers the book tucked in to his jacket. Well, he says remembers – pulls it out while searching for his favourite spoon more like, _semantics_.

“I still can’t believe you like yogurt this go round,” River is giggling, wandering the console room in nothing but his white shirt, it’s tails dragging down to brush just above her knees. She of course, manages to make it look like a fashion choice, instead of needs must - since her dress hadn’t really survived the night. She’s still got her section of the closet – but that had been all the way past the helter skelter and really, his shirt had been right _there_.

“Still hate pears,” he grumbles as he reaches further in to his pockets. “All that sticky juice on your chin-”

“You weren’t complaining about that feeling three hours ago as I recall,” River’s voice is smug and he looks up, glaring at her in exasperation.

“You’re fucking filthy; you know that?” He scolds her, but doesn’t mean a word of it. He loves that quite a lot and she knows it. _Especially_ when she’s naughty in public – she has always delighted in embarrassing the fuck out of him in front of friends and companions.

“Going to spank me, old man?”

“I might this go round, don’t back talk me,” he grumbles as he grips the book and pulls it out of his pocket, frowning down at it.

“What’s that?” Her voice is closer and when he looks up, she is right there – all hair and eyes and skin and shirt. And legs. Not the longest he's ever seen but Christ she packed a wallop in such compact curves.

“What’s what?” he asks, too busy ogling all that skin on display to pay any attention to what she’s doing. She snatches the book away, purring in delight at the feel of the leather under her fingers. “Oh that – it’s yours,” he finally pulls his spoon out with a grin and reaches for the yogurt he’d put down on the shelf in order to search for the damned spoon in the first place.

“Mine? A present, sweetie? You shouldn’t have!” She is all smiles as she unlatches the book, seeing the red lining and the thick, fresh pages. “What’s it for?”

“He can’t know – well me, I mean. I can’t know – this face. Wasn’t meant to happen you know, whole thing's a spoiler.” He waves his spoon, before she walks closer, taking it from him and setting it and his yogurt aside as he frowns in protest. She ignores him, turning him to face her as she looks up at him, book clutched between them like a shield.

“I can keep a secret,” she points out with a smile and he nods.

“I know you can. But I was a nosey bastard River. _Hated_ that you knew so much when I knew so little. Your little blue book was like Pandora’s box – and we know what happened there, don’t we?”

“I have never left you alone with my diary!” She gasps, poking at his chest a bit, looking mightily insulted at the mere idea.

“No, you haven’t. Not _yet_ ,” he lies smoothly because he doesn’t know how to explain this book to her. Other than the fact that he is a selfish old man, jealous and cantankerous and possessive. And somewhere between the robot husband and the explosions and the snogging her breathless he’s decided that the universe owes him this. Hell – his younger selves _owed_ him this. If they were too stupid to spend every sodding minute they could with the gorgeous creature that was his wife, their loss was his gain.

“I do not!” She looks so flummoxed he almost feels badly, but then his eyes drop to the brand new book with a grin and the feeling passes.

“How would you know?”

“I would never – _you_ must have done something.” She slaps his shoulder sharply at that and he winces. Well… she isn’t _wrong_ is she?

“Point is, you can’t write about this me in there – the little blue one. Not one word, dear. I’m a surprise,” he grins and she sighs, reaching up with her free hand to cradle his cheek tenderly, her eyes wandering over him, warm with joy.

“Of the best sort, sweetie,” she murmurs and he can’t help it – he ducks his head down to kiss her softly, feeling her smile bleed on to his mouth until they’re both grinning and there’s too much teeth – not enough lip to the kiss. “So it’s what? A second diary?”

“Better than that, Song, it’s a _secret_ diary. From me then, from _everyone_. You can’t ever tell – just keep it between these pages.” He taps the spine of the book in her hands and she looks down, swallowing heavily.

“It’s awfully thick,” she whispers and he chuckles at that, reaching up to tilt her chin up with a grin.

“So am I,” he reminds her and her eyes gleam wickedly as she drops her gaze again.

“Well I’m not disappointed this go round, if that’s what you’re getting at…” She is positively _wicked,_ and he splutters at her while trying not to look too chuffed. _Well_.

“I meant _stupid_ – you bloody evil temptress! Then – me then, the younger me’s your seeing right now – I was _thick_.” He huffs as she giggles, cuddling in to him as he rolls his eyes fondly.

“Well, that too,” she concedes and he stares down at her, utterly fucking besotted.

“I ran from you – no shock there, is it? Which means I’ve left myself an awful lot of time to fill in, haven’t I?”

Her eyes soften, shining in the low light as she fights back tears and he mutters in irritation. “No crying, Song, come on. I can’t bloody deal with _weepy_ women. Look, here – we’ll just do a bit of jiggery-pokery on your vortex manipulator,” He tugs her down the stairs as he talks, heading to the console where he finds her manipulator on the floor by the door (he may have nearly destroyed it in his desperate attempt to get her to not leave just yet when they were arguing about crossing timelines) and he pulls his sonic out of his pants pocket, fidgeting with the controls while River stands next to him. “Oh, that’s a good word, isn’t it? Haven’t used that one in ages – I should bring it back,” he mutters as the manipulator hisses and sizzles. “There, don’t lose this one.”

“What did you do?” She asks softly, putting the book down to take it from him carefully.

“Oh not much – just added a home key. Anywhere in space and time, it’ll get you me. This me – well at any given point beyond this one. Probably still won’t be in the right order, don’t give any of the good stuff away,” he scolds and she grins, looking up at him with eyes that shine.

“I come to you? Whenever I want?” She sounds unsure for a moment, staring at him in awe and he doesn’t like it one bit. Something so small shouldn’t feel so huge – fuck his past selves. What did he _do_ to her?

“No, you come _home_ whenever you want, love. As much as you want. I’ve a mind to fill that book. And no rubbish about finite pages – I’ll fucking buy you fifty more if we need to, you got that? Can keep a whole shelf here for it-” He turns and his wonderful ship is five steps ahead of him because there in his reading nook is a new loveseat, red velvet – with a shining bookcase behind it, all empty. “See?”

When he looks back she is crying but her smile is so huge he finds he can forgive the weepiness just this once. “I love you, you daft man,” she moves closer, her hands reaching up to grip his face between them as she kisses him. It is breath-taking and painful and so _so wonderful._ When they part he is grinning, gripping the fabric of that white shirt in his hands, the buttons straining under the pressure.

“Not everything ends, Song. Not you, not us, and _never_ love. Got it?”

She laughs, a bright sound that is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses her again. He will have her joyful, as often as he can, he thinks.

“Got it.”


	5. what sort of a time do you call this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt; Prompt: The moment the pieces click in River's head that the arrogant, moron who snuck his way onto her mission is the Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of stretched this prompt bc i wanted to deal with the idea that he actually does take her to Darillium in the special. Mentions the diary from the last chapter ficlet but not necessarily following that fic - I just like the idea of it.

**_what sort of a time do you call this_ **

He’s not sure how she does it, really. One minute he’s shouting at Nardole across the console about how he’s met some pudding-brains but he really takes the pudding cake – and the next he is on his arse on the floor, his ear ringing and his cheek feeling like it’s been lit on fire. His wife is standing over him, absolute _fire_ in her eyes as she glares at him.

“How could you not _tell_ me, you idiot?” Ah. She knows then – finally figured it out.

“Took you bloody long enough to figure it out. And how could I not tell you? How could you not _know_?” He’s quick to scramble to his feet – when fighting with his wife, it’s best to not give an inch. She’ll take a fucking parsec, honestly.

“You weren’t meant to have any other faces. How _could_ I have known?” Oh she’s absolutely livid, cheeks flushed and her eyes hissing and sparking at him and he grins in response. He always has loved her riled up. Just as he’s ready to poke back at her, give her a taste of the verbal wit he’s excelled at this go round – _show off_ really; her whole expression changes. The anger falls away to be replaced by tremulous hope, the likes of which he’s never seen on her face before. She reaches up with a shaking hand, her palm which so recently abused him now cradling his face delicately as she stares at him with a smile that trembles.  “A new _face_ …”

“A whole set,” he finds himself confessing and she breaths in sharply, her eyes looking up at him brightly.

“Oh, sweetie,” she breathes the word out and it fills him up – he hadn’t known how much he missed it until he hears it again.

“River,” he growls her name, reaching for her just as the ship lurches, sending them off balance. They both ignore everything – especially Nardole, haplessly trying to fix the flight pattern of the ship. She is staring at him in awe, and he’s staring right back at her the same damn way. After a moment he smiles at her slightly, spreading his arms out a bit. “So what do you think?”

“About what?” She smiles brightly and continues to look at him like absolutely nothing else is going on in the room around them.

“My new body,” his voice is softer than usual and he waits anxiously for her response. Honestly, he’s vain in any body he has. Her eyes sparkle once more, but with flirtatious intent this time instead of anger, and he decides that he likes that much better – though both look fucking fantastic on her.

“Oh, well,” she responds archly, her smirk wide as she eyes him up an down. “I don’t know, I’ve only seen the face.”

It’s a relief to find out he doesn’t blush in this body – oh she is wicked, he thinks. Just then the ship jolts once more, and he throws his arms up to catch her as they grin at each other like children. “Well, we can rectify that later. But first, I believe you’re due for a divorce?”

“Oh please, it _hardly_ counts,” River rolls her eyes as they head to the console together, both of their hands flying across the switches and dials with ease. “He just _thinks_ we’re married. I needed access, sweetie. Are you _jealous_?” She grins across at him and he huffs in irritation.

“Of course not, why would I be? He’s only a head on a robot body! That’s hardly threatening, practically an android.”

“Well, it does liven things up, sweetie.”

“Oh shut up,” he shoots the words at her as he thrusts the monitor in her direction. She catches it with ease, still smirking.

“Make me,” she laughs delightfully and oh bollocks, he’s _missed_ this. Her flirting at the most inappropriate moments. “Just give me a tick to become a widow first,” she offers with a wink and he groans, shooting a glance at Nardole who is watching them with confusion. He glares at her in exasperation and she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Fine, I’ll only shoot to maim. You never change, honestly.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

~*~*~*~

It’s much later – after she’s thoroughly inspected and decides that yes, she _does_ like the new body. He’d tried everything to make her stay, but finally she pushes her way out the doors with exasperated instructions for him to come back in five minutes. He can finally take her to Darillium – he’s always promised, and they’ve never quite made it.

At first he balks, he’s not picking her up, and not for _that_ certainly. But then the TARDIS gives him her sonic – complete with a gift wrapped box and he misses her – it’s so ridiculous, he’s just spent ages without her but one adventure and he’s right back in the throes once more. He misses things about her that he’d forgotten – how she smells, the sound of her giggle when she muffles it in his neck, the way she studies him like she has nothing else to devote her time to.

He’ll go see her; he thinks – but _not_ for Darillium. Something else. An adventure. It feels like old times as he pilots the TARDIS to her house, sure to pick a date after he’d last seen her. He also lets the TARDIS guide his way a bit – she keeps track of when he was there more than he ever has. He almost runs out the doors when he lands, but the ship whirs in irritation, and he feels a mental nudge to the wardrobe.

Right. Well he’s certainly not putting on Bowtie’s suits but yes – he does usually dress up for River, doesn’t he? Moments later he is emerging – a suit, but a bit more old-fashioned. Honestly, he feels like a ponce in it – but it’s _River_ and he’s never not dressed up.

When he stomps through her garden to knock on her door, she opens it in a stunning red gown. She looks like royalty, his hearts stutter in his chest and she laughs at his expression. “About time! I’m not letting you put it off this time, you said the Towers and _I’m_ driving just to be sure we get there. Honestly, you’re complete rubbish.” She turns to lock her door and presses a kiss to his cheek before she grabs his hand and drags him back to the TARDIS. “Is that a new suit? You look like you hate it, my love,” she giggles as they pass through the doors and she halts by the console, her eyes darting around. She turns, frowning at him. “When are we for you? What did you last do?”

“What? I just – Christmas, River. Giant diamond, husband who wasn’t a husband…” he offers the words cautiously – honestly he’d landed himself not _five_ minutes afterward. “Look – I landed five minutes-”

“Five _decades_ more like,” she nudges his shoulder and pulls out the soft black diary he’d given her before she left. “None of the others are _here_. You stupid man. When are you ever going to learn to fly your own ship?”

He swallows, feeling the edge of the giftbox he’d not put in his pocket nudging at him, and he closes his eyes in gratitude for a moment. His bloody ship – always meddling. She’d brought him too far ahead – but fifty _years_ … only to show him there was still more to do.

“When’s the last time you saw me?” He finally finds his voice and she laughs brightly, looking at him with fond exasperation.

“You know that’s spoilers, my love. Well, I hope you enjoyed having one up on me last time, because I think you’ll find that once again, I know you inside and out, sweetie. Now, Darillium – you _promised_ this time. Shall we?”

“We shall, dear. No more avoiding it – I promised didn’t I?” His voice is dry but he keeps himself in check. He can do this, he thinks – with the promise of a plethora of nights with her to follow, he can do this. It’s not an end, not for him. It’s beginning at an end – just like he had at the Library. New face, same wife, new ending’s beginning.

It feels right, he thinks as he pilots them away with a grin.


	6. not a look of greeting after an absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve attempting to flirt and growing more and more jealous as River flirts with everyone but him

**_not a look of greeting after an absence_ **

“Wanker,” his words are spoken to himself in theory, but out loud and quite within earshot of everyone around him, so the theory part really falls through when tested. “What? _Now_ you look at me?” He snaps at River, pushing himself up from the ground and glaring at her as she stares at him incredulously.

They’d been _fine_. Having fun – a fall in a snowbank and a daring escape and a good laugh, something he feels like he hasn’t had in _years_ , and finally her focus on him - all _ruined_ by sodding Ramone (what kind of a fucking name is Ramone anyway? He’ll never be able to hear it again without leaving a bad taste in his mouth. How will he ever listen to Blitzkrieg Bop again?!) and his helping hands, and _mouth_ and really – he was a tosspot. All young and pristine and fucking gorgeous – why the fuck would she look at _him_ when he’s standing next to this arsehole?

She wouldn’t, of course. And she hadn’t. No, she was too busy giving thank you kisses to blokes who offer her a hand up, not paying any attention to the fact that her sodding husband is right here. The _real_ one – the only one that matters, anyway. He thinks. He _hopes_. He glares at Ramone too, full eyebrows in effect as River shakes her head in confusion. “You, Raymond,” he grumbles, shoving the duffle bag into the prick’s hands so that they can stay off of his wife, “take this.”

“My name is Ra-”

“I don’t care,” the Doctor speaks bluntly and River huffs in irritation.

“Listen, Granddad,” she pokes his chest with a finger and the Doctor is torn between reaching for her hand and yanking her to him, and rubbing his chest and hiding away. It’s a code of honour between them – they never let the other one see this sort of stuff, but he’s not himself right now, and he’s irritated to all hell, so he stands his ground, glaring down at her too.

“What?”

It’s not the snogging (really it had barely been a kiss, and comparatively speaking he’s nothing to complain about and he’s pretty sure she knows that. Or would if she knew who he was.), he tells himself fiercely. It’s not even the marriages or her free use of that sodding wonderful stupid lipstick she likes to drug everyone (including him) with. It’s the fact that she keeps calling him _Granddad_ (she’ll regret that later, he thinks, and if she doesn’t he’ll make sure of it afterward in bed) and ignoring all of his fumbling attempts to impress her. How the fucking hell does one impress River Song? Because he’s been trying – full-out, frankly fucking embarrassingly _trying_ since the moment he realized she didn’t have a clue who he was.

None of it works. She barely glances in his direction, relegating him to useless tasks that keep him out of her way while she handles the fun stuff. And he’s a bit put out by it (a lot put out by it, shut up) because it suddenly has him questioning everything he’d thought about their marriage. About how she felt about him – shouldn’t she just _know_? Somehow?

“Don’t get tetchy with me just because it’s past your bed time, old man,” River is practically shimmering with irritation and anger – but at least she’s _noticing_ him, and perversely, it thrills him. Fine. If this is what it takes, so be it.

“Excuse me but who here is the elder? What did you say earlier? Five hundred and seventy?” Ramone’s mouth drops open at that and he nods with glee at the stupid man. “Kind of puts Oedipus complex way off the table, doesn’t it, Roofus?”

“Shut up,” River pokes him again, her eyes flashing dangerously and he lifts his brows in mock surprise.

“Or what? You’ll spank me, crone? Please. We don’t have time for you to kiss every bloody tosser that comes our way! Giant robot husband who’d like to murder you, remember?” (Okay maybe he’s a little bothered by the kiss. It’s hypocritical, he’s aware, shut the fuck up.)

“I know that, Gandalf! I was just being polite!”

“Didn’t see any thanks when I saved your arse up on that roof, but whatever. Are we trading him for a diamond or not?” He gestures at the duffle bag Roland is still holding and she arches a brow at him with a wicked grin. Oh, shit.

“Are you jealous, Granddad?” She is teasing now and he stares at her, his face carefully blank.

“Yes, I’ve been dying to try an older woman – not too many of those thick on the ground at my age, you see.” He deadpans the words and she glares at him in irritation. “Can we make this trade sometime before I die, please? Or are we waiting for me to expire so Robert can bollocks the whole thing up?”

“It’s Ramone, actually-”

“Shut up,” both he and River snap at the young man, who shifts nervously, gripping the bag tighter in his hands.

“If I’m lucky, you’ll trip and break a hip and get out of my sodding hair,” River is growling at him and he laughs out loud, leaning down to stare at her.

“Is that even possible, it’s like a viper’s nest, honestly!” Even he can’t get that out without his eyes slipping fondly over the loose curls. Fuck he misses that hair – the feel of it wrapped around his hands, the way it tickles his face and gets absolutely _everywhere_.

“Look, I just don’t think it’s time for a domestic-” Ramone interrupts, looking at them both, his eyes shooting from one to the other. “I didn’t realize she was married-”

“I’m not married to him!” River protests quickly, and the words cut at him enough that he flinches slightly, but she’s looking at Rupert, not him. “We’re not married.”

“Yeah, practically the only one in a ten kilometer radius she’s _not_ married to honestly. Aren’t I a lucky one?” He grinds the words through his teeth and she whips her head round to glare back at him.

“I’m not married to _anyone_ ,” she stresses and his hearts plunge to his stomach as he avoids looking at her. He can’t help it though – his eyes are drawn to her face just in time to see her close her eyes tightly. “Anymore. I was – he’s – he’s _gone_. I don’t want to talk about this, let’s just go. We’ll trade Hydrofax for the diamond and I can get the hell off this planet and away from _all_ of you.”

“Lead the way, Randy,” the Doctor gestures ahead of them, keeping his eye on the young man as they head through the tiny town, keeping to the back alleys and skirting the main roads. River walks stiffly beside him, tension in her frame and irritation coming off of her in waves.

“I’m sorry,” she finally gets the words out through her tight lips, and he looks at her askance. For what? He’s the one who’s being an utter prick. Petty jealousy – oh she’ll fucking love it when she realizes.

“I’m an arsehole, it’s fine. I’m sorry about your – your husband.” He waves awkwardly and she sighs softly, the sound short and tight and painful for him to hear. “Has it been very long?”

“It’s been twenty-four years,” she confesses in a softer voice. There is tension and pain underlying her words and he wants to shake his younger self in rage. Two decades? Two fucking _decades_ he could have filled? He wishes she hadn’t said it – he wishes she’d kept that detail out of it – because now the opportunity is just _gone_. “I never knew the last time was the last time, you know? I wish I had.”

“Me too – but you never do know do you?” He finds himself reaching across, rubbing his own rings absent-mindedly as he avoids her gaze.

“Your wife – you lost her too?” His throat is tight and he’s unable to look at her as he nods stiffly. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long, long time ago,” he confesses to her in a low rumble, and she leans closer to hear him. “Longer than yours even. But I’ve never loved anyone the same way since – I don’t think I ever will.” He looks at her plainly then, and she smiles softly, reaching to slip her hand through the crook of his elbow. He relishes the comfort of her touch in a way that surprises even him.

“Me either,” she looks up at him, a shadow of pain dancing across her eyes and for a moment he absolutely hates himself – he can put a stop to all this – just two words, really. “Does it ever go away?”

He laughs bitterly at that, reaching over and patting her hand on his arm as he shakes his head. “Fuck no. Never. And I’m glad – if it did, it means I forgot what she meant to me. And I never, ever want that. You learn to live around it. Laugh around it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she pulls herself up at that and smiles forcefully. “I’ve been trying to forget, ignore it all – but maybe I ought to remember more often. The way he’d look at me…” she trails off, glancing up at him as he gazes at her. For a moment, her eyes widen, and he thinks maybe – maybe she _sees_ him. But then her expression clears and she arches a brow. “Maybe you’re not half bad, Eyebrows.”

“Oh I’m half-bad,” he offers after a moment, trying to scale his gaze back from adoration to mild irritation. “Why else would I still be hanging around you?”

“Because I’m _fun_ , darling,” she grins up at him, too much teeth and she’s taking the piss a bit, he knows. But she’s smiling and it’s directed at him, so he can’t say as he minds. And the darling – while not _sweetie –_ is a damned sight better than all the little names she’s been calling him all night.

“Maybe a wee bit,” he acknowledges grudgingly and she preens a bit at that. “But I’m really here for the eye-candy,” he looks her up and down before transferring his gaze forwards. “Have you _seen_ Rudolph from this angle? Utterly thrilling,” he monotones and feels her pinch his arm sharply.

“Do shut up, Granddad.”

“Shutting up, dear.”


	7. the secret language of eyebrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pam gave me the title and demanded fic. I'd write pretty much anything she asked, tbh.

**_the secret language of eyebrows_ **

She’s always prided herself on her ability to read people. It’s a necessary skill really, especially when you spend your childhood running from monsters – the ability to know who to trust and who not to trust. Not that it’d helped her much in the end, but still. It was a skill she’d honed over the centuries.

But this man – _Basil_ – she couldn’t quite put her finger on what was going on behind that lined face – he’s all sharp nose and more eyebrows than ought to be decent. The Doctor would love that, she thinks, he hearts twinging. He’d be so jealous, bless.

She can’t read him, though, this grumpy old scot with his prickly personality and his predilection for cursing. It bothers her entirely, throughout their time together. At times he seems offended, other times sad, but he’s always always looking at her with warmth, always laughing with her or trying to make her laugh and it’s oddly incongruous.

He’s funny, she’ll admit it. He’s clever and a pain in the arse and useful, even though she wishes he wasn’t. A surgeon – a brilliant one, apparently. But his tone underlying his words is always something different from the look on his face, which never seems to match up to the expression in his eyes – she hasn’t a clue what to make of him, and it annoys her more than it ought to.

So naturally, she pokes at him. Pushes at him, teases him, mothers him and snipes at him for reasons she can’t quite understand. Except that she can’t read him and it drives her sodding mad.

“River,” he says her name the same way every time – long and drawn out like his tongue can’t quite let the last syllable go. She’s not paying attention to his mouth though, or his eyes or even the expression on his face. His body language is meaningless, but she stares at him as she notices – the quirk of his left eyebrow as his voice rolls over her name. “River!” There it is again, and she smiles, reminded suddenly of translating alien languages in dusty caves in her youth. Sometimes the smallest things lead to breakthroughs.

“I heard you,” she speaks absentmindedly, and he nods at the console in front of them, before looking to her, brows lifted in question. More than question though, she thinks as she focusses on the panel in front of them, it looks oddly like _hope_ on his face. Not on his face exactly – in the eyebrows.

He grins at her then, one brow lifted just a touch higher – pride. Which is odd because he doesn’t even know her – why would he be proud? But she takes notice – thinking she’s got it now. He’s an enigma, wrapped in a grumpy old Scottish man, but she thinks she’s on to him. It’s all in the eyebrows, really.

So she pays attention. To how those brows drop in to a natural frown when he speaks to almost anyone else. To how those brows lift and soften when he looks at her – except when she’s kissing someone, and then that furrowed brow is turned on her, but it’s still softer somehow. Not a glare, just utter confusion, written across his brow like a neon sign.

A slight twitch and the confusion looks a lot like disappointment, and she doesn’t understand it at all. Even if she does feel utterly chastised when she catches the expression on his face. Like she’s done something wrong, and she doesn’t understand why on Earth she would feel that way. Hollow, and guilty – when she’s done nothing wrong.

Sometimes when he speaks to her – about her diary, about the Doctor – she can read the sympathy in the furrow of his brows and she feels oddly comforted by it, compelled to speak more. Something about his face – how he looks at her, how his hand hovers over the small of her back, how he touches her – something about _him_ makes her trust him.

And she’s not quite sure she could name a reason why, other than the fact that she likes the line of his brow when he looks at her, his face open and relaxed. It’s not until he says those words – _hello sweetie_ – that she understands.

He can’t be here, not with this face, but he is. “No, I know all his faces, yours isn’t one,” she protests, unwilling to believe.

“New set,” he shrugs, his brows lifting just a degree – he wants to impress her – and her eyes search his face intently, as if she can see beyond the lines, and the rumpled grey hair and the _nose_ (her father would have loved it, frankly), blue eyes again and she gasps. It’s not that she can see him there – in his face, but she suddenly feels everything slide in to place and _click_. How he looks at her is what is familiar – like slipping in to a warm bath, it soothes her to see the pure affection there – written not in the warmth of his eyes, but in the lift of his brow as he stands in front of her nervously.

And oh she wants to be mad – he’s never told her – but she knows it’s because his very existence is a spoiler. She wants to be relieved, because now – a whole new set – this means she’ll never have to watch him die. And with both of them on their last lives, it’s sadly a thought she’s been plagued by more often than not.  But all she can be is simply flabbergasted by her own blindness, because of _course_ it’s him. She swallows, trying to think of something to say as he stands there, eyebrows all expectant and nervous and in love as he looks at her.

“ _Basil_?” Is what finally pops out of her mouth, and he grins in surprise, before he barks out a laugh, followed by another until she is laughing with him, her cheeks straining from her smile.

“If I’d said John Smith you’d have known right away,” he finally offers, his eyes searching her face as she frowns. He reaches up quickly, smoothing her brow, erasing the lines as he looks at her, eyes soft and brows lifted just a touch. “I’m sorry,” he apologises quickly – so quickly she knows instantly by the tick of his brow that he doesn’t mean it. He’s not sorry at all. “I just wanted to see you, without me, for once.”

“And what did you think?” She asks him seriously, her hearts beating sharply against her ribcage as his face relaxes, but his eyebrows don’t – constantly enamoured they are, lifting and arching as he looks at her with a grin.

“You’re infuriating and mad and a bloody pain in my arse,” he growls, not meaning a bit of it – she can tell. “And fucking brilliant beyond all words – my River. Utterly amazing.”

“So the usual then?” She is smug, and he laughs at her, leaning in until his nose brushes against hers gently, his hands never leaving her face.

He pulls back then, just enough to let her look at him and see the faint grin on his lips and the familiar light in his eyes. But she’s never seen that expression on his brow, the way they pull together, sincerity – a study in eyebrows. “The absolute usual, I adore you, love.”

She beams in response, wriggling a hand between them so she can stroke one finger over the line of his brow as she gazes up at him. “I like the eyebrows,” she offers ins a soft voice and he preens a bit – and she can she echoes of his old selves there for a moment, like an afterimage.

“Do you now? Not too aggressive?”

“Not toward me,” she speaks softly and he leans down, his mouth hovering over hers as he chuckles once more.

“No, I expect not.”


End file.
